


Call Time

by LiquidMetalSlime



Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Future Fic, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidMetalSlime/pseuds/LiquidMetalSlime
Summary: Chisato realizes there are only so many things to do in the evening on location in your hotel room alone--well, not really alone.
Relationships: Aoba Moca/Shirasagi Chisato
Kudos: 24





	Call Time

The worst part of filming on location is the after hours boredom. Chisato can hardly blame her cast mates for showing up to the make up trailer with thick sunglasses and precrushed aspirins when the only option other than alcoholism is yet another early night in the middle of nowhere. She’s already read through the books her producers sent along to consider for future projects and the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ Moca snuck in her bag with naughty annotations added along the margins—Moca never did have any respect for a slow and smouldering courtship—and there are still two weeks left on location.

Chisato glances around her hotel room as if anything could have changed in the past five minutes. All things considered it’s a nice hotel room to languish in. A solid queen bed to spread out on, pleasant generic wall art, and a television that would be very nice if every time Chisato turned it on it didn’t feel like working overtime. She yawns. She may be the only twenty something in the world falling asleep at 8:30. The glamorous life, indeed.

Her eyes wander down her torso to the hand resting lazily over the zipper of her high waist black pants. There is one other way to entertain herself alone at night. She considers pulling out the book Moca ruined and finding some pleasure in her lover’s hand written erotic fan fiction but her imagination is strong enough to handle this much. Chisato holds out her hand and imagines Moca’s there.

Moca would kiss her palm so slowly. First she would kiss the very center, eyes fixed on Chisato dragging her lip along Chisato’s skin. Then she would kiss up, noisily—messily—her tongue dragging until it reached the edge of Chisato’soutstretched hand, licking and sucking along the membrane between her thumb and forefinger. It shouldn’t be as appealing as it is to Chisato but Moca knows her every nerve ending perfectly.

Chisato throbs, hand drifting down. She wants to be home, perched on Moca’s lap, letting her think she has the upper hand when then both know Chisato will flip it as soon as there’s a window.

Moca would smirk against her hand because she knows, she always knows what she does to Chisato. If she didn’t like to bottom so much she’d be dangerous—she still is.

Chisato would press a little back, enough to grip Moca’s face like a mask. Moca would squirm and moan underneath as she presses harder, pushing Moca down onto the flat of her back so Chisato can straddle on top. Moca’s breathing would shift, breath beating against her palm in rabid excitement.

Her imagination races. There is so much she wishes she could do, so many ways she wants to feel Moca. She considers throwing off her underwear and thrusting her pussy in imaginary Moca’s face, grinding until they’re both exhausted and out of breath. She wants to rip off imaginary Moca’s jeans and go downtown herself. She wants to do anything at all with the real Moca Aoba and she’s annoyed that she still has two weeks to wait.

That’s the moment the phone rings.

Chisato wonders if she’s dating a psychic. “Hello?”

“Hey babe~.” Moca croons lazily through the speaker as if she were already half asleep. “Miss me?”

“I’m too busy for that.”

“Ouch.” Moca laughs too hard to have taken real offense. “Schedule in at least a little longing why don’tcha?”

“I can gaze out the window for five minutes at lunch tomorrow, will that satisfy you?”

“Hmm,” she considers. “Yeah Moca can accept that.”

Was that too callous? Moca likes it when Chisato plays fast and loose with her heart but everyone has to have limits, even Moca. “I was actually.”

“Was what?”

“Thinking of you. Before you called.”

“Oh~.” Moca’s voice curls around—cursive somehow vocalized. She knows. How is it that she always knows? “What were you thinking about?”

“You know what I was thinking about.”

“Do I~?”

Bong. A clock chimes on Moca’s end. A loud, large bonging that sounds an awful lot like the old grandfather clock her mother foisted on her otherwise modern apartment. Suspiciously awfully like… “Moca… Where are you?”

“A-At home.”

“Liar.” She smiles before lowering her voice to it’s wickedest tone—the one Moca said was like pouring sex in her ear, whatever that means. “You used the spare key I gave you for _emergencies_ to break in.”

“Maybe Moca wanted to do a little panty raid.” The purr in Moca’s voice is almost tangible. She’s so damn proud of herself even when she’s been caught out. Because she’s been caught. Because she knows Chisato can read the ‘I miss you’ Moca screams between lines. And because she knows the idea of Moca, in her home when Chisato isn’t there, that’s doing something hot to her insides.

“Is that so? Messing about in my unmentionables are you?”

“Wearing them like a hat right now.”

“Pervert,” She teases.

“Never heard any complaints before.”

“And you still haven’t.”

A pause. “Chisato,” Moca softly murmurs. The sound of her name in that voice is enough to make Chisato flush like a schoolgirl.

Which is completely unacceptable. “Come now Moca, it’s too early in the night for that.”

“Something you’d like better?”

“You. On your knees.” Chisato doesn’t expect Moca to comply with her silly whims but she knows, she’s certain, that Moca might say—

“Okay.”

“Moca.” Chisato swallows. “Are you actually…?”

“You ask for Moca on her knees baby, you get what you want.”

There aren’t many things that can get Chisato to swear, but the image Moca strikes in her head… “Fuck.”

“Yes. _P_ _lease_.”

“Where are you?”

“Your bedroom.” A muted thud. Knees on plush carpet. “On the floor.”

Chisato groans, back pressed against the headboard of her hotel bed, unbuttoning the top of her shirt to do something about all the heat flooding her chest. “You’re so irritating.”

“Heh. Haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Wrong.” She breathes in, hand picking down her blouse, so very carefully pulling the hem from her pants. “So very wrong. You’re driving me mad and you’re not around to do anything about it.”

Moca breathes heavy on the line. “I can take care of you from here.”

Oh Chisato wants that. She feels how deeply she wants that. “You make it sound so tempting.”

“Say yes~.”

Chisato swallows with a rare nervousness. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Is that a line or…?”

Chisato laughs. “It’s the truth.” One she’s comfortable enough to share. How strange she has become.

“Well now Moca wants to even more.”

Chisato’s hand leaps back to the comforter. “That’s suspicious.”

“We don’t have that many mutual firsts…” Moca pauses with a hum. “It’s nice.”

“Moca Aoba if you turn this phone sex sentimental I will hang up at once.”

“Okay, okay~.” The joking lilt returns. Solemnity is for their bedroom. And occasionally the couch. …And one very intimate moment in the back of Hazawa Coffee. “Imma get up, my knees hurt.”

Chisato traded the heat in her belly for ice in her voice. “Did I say you could get up?”

Silence.

Chills on both ends of the phone. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes ma’am,” the voice drips with a cocky grin. Chisato wishes she could wipe it off Moca’s face with her hand down Moca’s boy shorts and her teeth on her tits. Moca is so easy to control—or rather so happy to be controlled.

“You said you could take care of me.”

Moca’s voice drops. “Yes _ma’am_.”

Fuck Chisato shouldn’t like the sound of that as much as she does. She curls into the headboard, surely Moca can hear it thunder against the wall. “Do it.”

“What does Moca get?”

“What does Moca want?”

“To die with your thighs around my head but we can save that for later. What are you wearing?”

Chisato knows it intimately but she still looks down. “That white blouse, with the ruffled collar and no sleeves.”

“Oh I see.” Goosebumps rise up over Chisato’s bare arms, raised by the ghost of Moca’s hands. “I like that one. Unbutton it.”

“Are you giving me orders now Moca?” She purrs. She’s not against it, on contrary some days it’s a lovely change of pace.

“Heh, sorry~.” Moca falls back into laughter. “Should I say, ‘I’ll unbutton it’?”

Chisato licks her bottom lip and swallows. She unbuttons the next button on her shirt, brushing her fingers against the cream colored bra underneath. Her fingers are too long, so cold where Moca’s are always warm but it’s easy to imagine. “Yes, I like that.”

So does Moca from the sound of that shaky gasp. “Okay, I’m unbuttoning your shirt. What color is your bra?”

“Beige.”

“… Beige? Boo. It’s red now.”

“You can’t wear a red bra with a white shirt,” she chides. “It would show through.”

“It’s called fashion.”

She rolls her eyes with a fondness she never imagined she could have. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And taking off your shirt.”

Chisato follows along, feeling a bit cold and ridiculous all of the sudden. She’s rolling around a hotel room getting turned on by the sheer idea of her girlfriend touching her and a few well placed pauses. “Moca?”

“Right here, just appreciating.”

“You can’t see me.”

“Moca’s got you memorized. I’m running my fingers down your cleavage, right past that little freckle on the right. Gonna reach back with my other hand and unhook your bra—perfectly on the first try.”

“Whose fantasy is this now?” Chisato teases, but obeys. The air conditioning has her nipples already hard and tender—it’s definitely the air conditioning, she assures herself as she thumbs past the freckle.

“Mine~. I’m the one putting my hands on your breasts—the one who gets to knead you. Bring you to my mouth and suck.”

Chisato gasps, wrapping her fingers around her nipples—pinching and pulling as Moca whispers how much she wants them in her hands. Her thighs rub uselessly together, already damp with sweat and heat. “Moca!”

“Pants or skirt?”

“Pants—” Chisato throws her head back with a flick over her nipple. “I’m wearing pants.”

“Think I’ll open that up, take a little lookie loo, what do I see?”

Chisato smiles as she shudders. “Beige.”

“Nah,” Moca tsks. “You gotta match. I’ll make those red too.”

Before she can roll her eyes and tell Moca she’s ridiculous, Moca steals her breathe from a thousand miles away:

“What do I feel when I touch you?”

Slowly, Chisato cups the outside of her panties, running up the curve and pushing in enough to make herself squirm—moaning a bit louder than usual for her audience. “Soaked through. You did that.”

Moca’s strangled groan is almost reward enough but Chisato won’t be satisfied just yet. Not until Moca has it as bad and she’s back in charge. She draws her steel back into her throat. “Are you still on your knees?

“Yes,” Moca whimpers.

“Good. Strip.”

The unquestioned shuffling of clothes sends more heat to the pot boiling over in her underwear. The sight in her mind is so beautiful: Moca naked on her hands and knees, probably cheekily trying to ruin the view with a wiggle and a wink, knowing full well that’ll just get her everything she wants.

And in her mind Chisato’s there too, pressing her chest to Moca’s back, hugging their bodies together as her hands fall between Moca’s legs to fuck her until her knees give out. It’s how they love each other.

Chisato knows from the quick needy pants on the receiver that she’s back in charge. “I move to the edge of my bed. I look down at you, waiting for me with your hand between your legs—”

—A quick shift indicates she guessed very right—

“—And I open my legs for you. Come have a taste.”

“I rip your panties off with my teeth.”

“The red ones?” Chisato purrs as she pushes her pants and panties down—ripping them to keep to the spirit of the instruction seems uncouth.

“No, the beige ones—the red ones live on in my head but those beige ones are fucking out of h-here. Shit.” The sound cuts with a thud. A slick, schlipping sound fills Chisato’s ears instead of Moca’s voice. Moca’s that wet from just being bossed around a little and pretending to touch Chisato. That special sort of pride only Moca’s gleeful submission can give her hums through Chisato’s chest. It makes her bolder.

“S-Sorry.” Moca must be struggling to stay upright, touch herself and talk. Best to help.

“Stop touching yourself. You’re supposed to be pleasing me aren’t you?”

Moca’s breath shudders. “Yes ma’am.”

“Focus on me, make me come and I’ll reconsider.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She’s so close to feeling it, to have Moca’s warm breath on her folds instead of her own fingers stirring herself up and down, to feel Moca kissing her apart.

“But I don’t enter. I circle around the entrance, dip the tip in a little but I wait.”

Chisato groans and tears at her pillow but she obeys the conceit and tortures herself with patience. “You’re asking for punishment.”

“Yes. I am. Give your clit a little visit for me.”

It’s electric. She moans. “Fuck. Moca!”

“Chisato. Shit. Chi-Chisato, you sound so beautiful. I-I…” Moca’s voice catches. Naughty Moca. Did she think Chisato wouldn’t know?

Chisato hangs up at once. Sincerity and disobeying? Moca knows better. The phone starts to ring again before Chisato even pulls it away from her ear. She waits with a wicked smile. One ring. Two rings. Three… “Hello?”

“Y-you,” Moca sounds out of breath as if she’s been running a marathon or—more accurately—as if she had been on the edge of an orgasm before Chisato totally denied her. “You hung up on me.”

“You wanted punishment.” The power rushes half to her head and half to her groin. She settles her heart beating heavy under her heaving chest. “Who’s in charge?”

“You are. Always you are.” It isn’t a complaint, it’s the prettiest praise Moca can offer.

“Moca.” Chisato strokes herself, lavishes herself. But she’s going to wait. She’s going to wait for Moca. “Make me come.”

“Inside. I’m inside you.”

Chisato can’t move her fingers fast enough. She moans desperately, with depravity, as she enters herself, only slightly exaggerated for Moca’s benefit. Mostly, she can’t think to perform. She can only focus on her hand in her own pussy, Moca egging her on with melting words about how good she feels and how filthy wet Moca is.

At some point Moca’s lips are latched around her nipple and the logical part of Chisato’s brain starts to complain that Moca can’t have two mouths at once but Chisato tells that part of her to shut the fuck up because tonight Moca can have as many mouths as she goddamn wants.

She’s so fucking close and Moca’s definitely given up on waiting, moaning and grinding in her ear as each of their cries drive the other to push harder. Lost in the sounds that only they can share together.

“That’s good Moca, you’re doing so good.” Chisato gasps. The cliff is in sight, if only she can just fall off the edge.

“Chisato!” Despite her efforts, Moca comes first, Chisato’s name crescendoing into orgasmic reverence, rolled and repeated.

Moca’s undoing is contagious, it only takes a few twists of her fingers for Chisato to fling herself down to the safe harbor—or jagged rocks—below. Her back arches, feet scramble at the foreign comforter under her as somewhere very far away someone she loves calls sweetly for her to come back. It takes a moment for Chisato to have the wherewithal to call back. “Moca… are you still on your knees?”

Moca laughs. “Nah, I fell over.”

“Too bad.” Chisato snorts softly. “You cheated again. You were supposed to wait.”

“Couldn’t help it.” Shuffling. Hopefully, Moca sparing her knees and climbing onto Chisato’s bed. “Got me so wet I almost drowned on land.”

“You’re absurd.” She smirks. “I’ll have to punish you later I suppose.”

Moca croaks. “ _Please._ ”

“Next time,” Chisato sighs.

“Next time,” Moca agrees. An understanding lies between them, they don’t need to repeat the obvious. They can lie together—though separate—and sink into the intimacy of each other’s faint breathing.

“Stay on the line?” Moca’s usual drawl is edged with exhaustion.

Chisato looks down at herself—haphazardly undressed with her good clothes gathered around her ankles growing wrinkles—and decides to take it easy for one night. She sets the phone on the empty pillow next to her own and curls up with a soft smile she knows can’t be seen but she hopes can still somehow be felt. “What’s the point of unlimited minutes if I don’t use them?”

“Perfect.”

“Almost.”


End file.
